the things we said
by distant millennial
Summary: she gave some thought, she realized too late.—goldcrystal. prequel to seconds. "all those years ago, i should have said yes."


**prompt ::** the things we said

**disclaimer ::** don't own, never will.

* * *

Maybe she shouldn't have looked through the old middle school albums.

What was his name? She swore under breath and it reminded her of the nameless former. Navy locks slipped off her shoulders and she clicked her tongue in annoyance, pulling them back into a messy bun. She grew out of her pigtails the moment she stepped out of her junior high years. Her tawny roommate hovered over her before carrying her merry way.

"Can I borrow your Physics notes? Professor Birch had me hanging," she voiced, already heading for the stack of notebooks on the coffee table.

The quiet former consented with a slight tip of her head before turning back to the dusty photo albums on her lap. College, high school, junior high; everything was the same to her. She hadn't felt excitement or passion for any of that stuff since elementary, and awaited the day she started working as a researcher for a zoology lab. She had always loved animals.

One picture in particular stood out. A boy and girl of equal height were framed. The girl sat on old wooden desk by the window—the sun was setting and it looked gorgeous. The other had his hands on the girl's desk, he stood straight, parallel to the girl. They were yelling at each other, judging by the open mouths and furrowed eyebrows. The boy has smirking, his eyes glimmered mischievously through the photograph.

Gold.

Her cerulean eyes hardened with recognition. Standing in front of her middle school self was a boy by the name of Gold. He was annoying and persistent. Headstrong, cunning and sly. He was everything she was not—the type she refused to associate with, yet his willpower was strong enough to force his way through her barrier.

She remembered the things they argued about that day, something about the health project they were assigned to do together.

The class sat in the computer lab, rowdier than usual—shouts of protest as girls were paired with undesirable boys that were nowhere near gentlemen, arguing of desired topics, and the occasional loud student wanting their voice to project above the rest.

She and Gold sat in the back, secluded. Up in the front, sat the teacher, not bothering to look up from her computer screen.

She let the shaggy black haired tween decide on their project topic, as none of them truly peaked her interest. He chose autism, randomly swinging his arm and pointing at a portion of the screen with a long finger. She nodded him off, clicked the topic on her screen and began taking notes.

She wished she didn't have to take health.

* * *

After school, they met in the classroom. Gold greeted her with a lazy smile and twisted his body around so he could face her on the desk behind him.

She mused of her findings during free period, demanding that their action part of the project should be a fundraiser for one of the charities that was working to cure autism.

Gold stood up, in rage. She remembered his exact words seven years later; There is no cure for autism, just a load of bull society wants to throw at us—she chided his words, but allowed him to continue—We shouldn't help people who discriminate against people who are a little different, we should help the autistic people function so society can't pull crap on them anymore.

She didn't feel obligated, she felt moved. Mouth agape and nods were all she could muster, and Gold lifted the heavy air around the two with wide grin.

"There's this center near by—I think we should volunteer there," a pause and she anticipated what was coming next; some remark that supposed to woe her or something like that, the information retrieved from girl's locker rooms couldn't be trusted. "Make sure to finish the notes by Friday, the teacher announced it after you left the computer lab—So do you want to make out now?"

Delayed, she grew crimson, stuttering as she couldn't find the words to reply to this acquaintance-like thing. Cobalt hair bounced to her movements as she stormed out the door, not bothering to give a clear reply.

* * *

With a heavy sigh, the twenty one year old sunk into her couch. Her head in her hands, she groaned to herself.

"What were you thinking Crystal?"

* * *

I should have said yes.

* * *

**a/n ::** after reanalyzing my love life, i realized some things too late. killing two birds with one stone, autism is a very big deal to me. oh and i hinted some stuff for the sequel to the weight of her shoulders, it's called rain check.


End file.
